After the world war
American men came home in droves.
The VA built little houses for them
with refrigerators and stoves
and a Chevrolet in the driveway
or a Ford for the highway
Plymouths and Dodge here and there
and Ramblers, Studebakers somewhere
on the road, maybe on the new Interstate
highways . . . all that after
a world war came undone.
I arrived in ’51, son of a gun
with Davy Crockett on the run,
Howdy Doody a lotta fun.
We had a ’55 station wagon,
little cookie-cutter GI-bill house
on a quiet street, not much going on
except for all those little boomer feet
trompin’ from yard to yard.
Life was never hard
compared to what our soldiers went through,
starting in 1942.
We got through it without having to
duck into the bomb shelter.
You never knew what Khruschev might do
banging his shoe, “We’ll bury you!
Now its Putin who
might be launching up a few
nukes.
makes me puke
to think about it.
But I digress.
You know the rest,
if you’re a boomer too.
There are still a few of us.
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